I had heard, people who like rains and winters, end up with summers.
So I fell for the rains and winters and
Nights those had two moons.

And I wrote my name on a piece of paper,
A child told me it sounds like whore,
He knew I fucked everyone I met,
I knew the second moon got hurt the most.

It's enough light, it's enough dark
Both at the same time,
I can't sleep with peace
And I know the moons are dying

Sometimes, I look at it deeply and it breaks,
And there is a girl lying inside one of its craters
With no arms and bad hair,
I look at her and think,
Did she forget the art of acceptance,
Or just got tired of being only 'sometimes'?

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